


big bad handsome man

by harscrow



Series: Death Smiles At Us All [5]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Barebacking, Community: wrestlingkink, Dean POV, M/M, Organized Crime, Shameless Smut, lots of hickeys and biting, mention of murder, mob boss!Roman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harscrow/pseuds/harscrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did someone die in Nevada?" Dean asks, out of the blue. His voice is quiet, as if he's talking about the weather.</p><p>Roman kisses his knuckles and lets his eyes wander about the edge of Dean's fingers. There's nothing to elude, just truth that has to be told. "Yes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	big bad handsome man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Derret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Derret/gifts).



> Thanks once again to PezzieCoyote for being the perfect beta.
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt followed: https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=561175#cmt561175  
> _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


When the tires of black, heavy sedans creak down there in the driveway, Dean springs up from the armchair he's sitting on to go peek through the tall window of _their_ bedroom. It must be him. It's time, he can't wait any longer.

After a few seconds of holding his breath, Dean finally sees him emerge from the backseat of a BMW, standing tall and stern amongst some of his men. He doesn't even think, just rushes below, feet quickly stepping on cold, expensive Italian marble. Sometimes is still hard to remind himself that – after all the dumps he's seen in his life – now he's actually living in a fucking luxurious mansion. Not that such a thing really matters when compared to the man he's been waiting for during the last week; Roman Reigns has gifted him with so much more than a millionaire's dream residence.

Blooming magnolias at his back, black suit jacket on his left shoulder and a leather holster hanging from his arm, the boss is instructing his soldiers. Dean is not able to hear what they're talking about from under the porch where he's set, but the expressions the men share exude the usual precautionary concern that follows a _hunt,_ even a good one. He knows he has to keep some distance until everything settles, so he just waits there, impatience eating him inside out. Waiting has never been his thing, though he's not really got any other choice here, in front of a criminal organization he's somehow trying to fit into. Roman keeps telling him that he's free to do as he likes, that The Family is now _his_ family but, for the first time ever, Dean prefers to follow the rules, the unwritten ones floating within the organization and keeping it whole. Business and pleasure shouldn't be mixed together, and he wouldn't be a responsible partner if he distracted his man from important obligations. 

Yet, the exact moment Roman catches Dean respectfully standing on the threshold, his attention is drawn to him only. Dean's heart was already pounding in expectation, but when Roman locks those intense eyes of his with his, his whole body becomes a thrill, lust pooling in his guts. He tries his best not to run to him, to be good and discreet while the other man slowly approaches. Though the top two unfastened buttons of Roman's tight white shirt are really putting Dean's self-control to the test.

"Hey." He smiles, placing both hands on Roman's chiseled chest, feeling it rising with the man's deep breath. "Everything ok? You fine?" He murmurs, the sudden closeness making his husky voice spill out of his mouth almost liquid, sloppy. 

Roman's presence is damn intoxicating, especially when he still smells of power and death inflicted upon others. Dean can read that truth in the firm, glacial look the king's been casting since he got out of the car. He couldn't live without Roman, as dangerous as the man was, is and always will be.

Roman simply nods, pushing Dean closer by the small of his back and leaning toward his lips to kiss him fiercely. The fire he's got within burns savagely, even if his strict man bun and quiet attitude may fool who doesn't know him. Dean is not among them and, to be honest, he does quite a good job at keeping those flames high. He moans abandoned between the kiss, his body aching to be touched, to be possessed. He feels Roman's lips curl up in a devious grin against the corner of his mouth. "Let's go upstairs, shall we?" 

"You sure your men don't hate me?" He smirks satisfied, squeezing Roman's pecs a little, just because he can. After all, Dean Ambrose is not Dean Ambrose without a rebellious streak.

"They wouldn't dare." Roman cuts off, turning to nod and grant them their deserved leave.

Dean watches a couple of men lift their cigars as a sign of understanding, then lets himself be lead through the baroque foyer and up the stairs by the boss. "I've missed you so much," he says, the warmth of Roman's palm pressed against his back making some sort of anguishing euphoria churn inside of him.

"Me too, baby. Been away too long." The other man coos, a sudden brightness in his voice now that they're alone. 

Dean's never been the type to complain, yet he can't help but be true about how much Roman's absence has weighed on him. "Yeah. This house feels too fucking empty when you're gone. And I felt lonely."

"I left Jimmy here for the exact purpose of not letting that shit happen."

"Jimmy is great, you know we get along and everything… The other day he even showed me some family photos. Gotta tell you, man, never laughed so hard in my life."

"He did _what_?" That incredulous playful tone suits very little a mob boss, but Roman doesn't mind letting his walls crumble when he's around Dean. Never did.

"You were so adorable in that Ninja Turtle costume, I swear." Dean snickers, stepping over the last marble step and yanking Roman closer to bump forehead against his.

"I'm gonna kill my cousin." The other man snorts, barely covering the urge to laugh.

"No, you're not, big dog."

"You should've been in my place, a full week of pain in the ass. The two of you, instead, spent some time laughing about my childhood clothing choices. What was so bad about it?"

Dean licks his lip, baby blue eyes glistening devilishly. Grinning like a horny teenager, he replies in the most sincere way he can. "I couldn't ask Jimmy to fuck me senseless."

A tug, then a low growl against his ear makes Dean go weak at the knees. "Yeah? That what you want, pretty boy?"

"That what I need." He manages to whisper, eyelids already fluttering close.

Relishing the way Roman responded to his naughty flirting, Dean pleasantly startles when his man not so gently swings their bedroom's door open. Roman lets the jacket on his shoulder fall to the floor and blindly abandons the holster on the oak dresser, just in time for Dean to push him against the wall and strip him naked, yank after violent yank. Tongue swirling all over the intricate lines of Roman's Samoan tattoo, Dean feels the other man's hand pulling at his curls the moment he starts sucking the nipple. Flesh hardening in his mouth, he can't help but dig his nails into Roman's stiff biceps.

"Fuck, Ro- Ro, how much did you miss me?" He frantically asks, and it sounds a lot like a lustful whine dripping from his busy lips.

"To death." It's the short, velvety answer, followed by a deep, throaty little laughter that runs straight to Dean's cock. 

"You know I've been jerking off every night? Every night, thinking about…" Dean's eyes fly up to meet the other's, teeth tasting Roman's lower lip. "…all of this. All of you." 

"Such a tease, and you still got your clothes on." Roman pants, mellow, before grabbing his chin gently. "Take them off and get into bed. I'll be right back."

Dean feels high in the head as he complies, excitement stirring up in his every nerve. Splayed out on the sheets for Roman to see when he comes back, he makes sure his message reaches the bathroom loud and clear. "Don't make me wait, Ro, or I'll start all by myself."

"Oh no, don't you dare…"

The overall view takes Dean's breath away. About seven days without Roman? Too fucking much. There he stands, loose hair falling over broad shoulders, the man completely naked and shaped like a walking sin. At that sight, Dean's hand instinctively slides toward his own growing erection.

"Uh-uh! What did I just tell you?" The scolding note in Roman's voice as he saunters toward the bed reminds Dean that he should have waited. Yet, he has no intentions of quitting touching himself.

"Got tired of waiting. I fucking hate it. And it's all I've done this whole week." He retorts, stroking his own length while keeping eye contact. When Roman finally joins him in bed, the first thing the bastard does is slapping his hand away from his cock. "Well, help me with that, then. Asshole!" Dean snorts, in a tone that would have got anyone else killed and ditched in a hole.

Roman chuckles and shuts him up with a kiss. "That the way you welcome me back?"

Dean briefly surrenders to the other man's tongue, letting its soft twist smother any snarky reply. Roman can handle him so good, it becomes hard to think coherently when those beautiful big hands are clawing their way down his chest, ribs and stomach. A muffled moan is his most effective compliment.

"Yeah, I know, baby… I know… Let me take care of you now."

Dean is ready to swear he hates Roman when he talks like that. The only problem is, that would be kind of a lie, since he makes him want to spread his legs and take his cock raw. In response, Dean decides to roll his hips a little, his own swollen, thick dick rubbing against the marmoreal work of art Roman's got between his legs. "I want you to fuck me hard. Not one of your love making bullshit, alright?"

Roman answers that by pushing himself more greedily against him, friction increasing and both their mouths going lax in a gasp. "You are so perfect. So fucking perfect." It's the needy, hungry praise murmured in the hollow of Dean's neck.

He dips his fingers into Roman's hair, keeping him there, letting his lover's mouth suck and mark the sensitive skin right under the angle of his jaw. He cocks his head to the side, allowing him more space, their shafts still thrusting against each other. He feels Roman's lips linger on his exposed delicacy, assaulting the line of his jugular with rapacious, stubborn strength. His first, spontaneous reflex is to sink his nails into Roman's shoulders, scratches getting deeper each time the other man's sucking gets more intense. Dean can feel his skin hot, tense and wet under fervent attentions. 

"Ro…" He sobs, his right foot nervously stroking Roman's calf.

"They're gonna see. They're gonna see." The other man hisses, lecherous, tongue sweeping over the results of his appetite.

"What an animal you are in bed? You like to be watched? Kinky." Dean jokes, torturing his own lips. He's not afraid and never will when it comes to what Roman does to him. 

"They're gonna see, they're gonna know everything you let me do to your body. They're gonna wish their women would be as good as you."

"They all have sidechicks anyway… " Dean chuckles, his fingers toying with Roman's raven locks. "They won't give a shit."

"Oh, they will. You're better than any of them."

"Then fuck me, Ro. Fuck me. Show me who's the boss."

"I ain't finished yet." Roman's crooked smile would scare anyone else, yet Dean is nothing but appealed by the carnal shade of evil on his handsome Reaper's face.

Sliding smoothly as a shadow, Roman settles downward, over the other man's lithe waist. His teeth clench the flesh of Dean's hips without warning, demanding a growling gasp of surprise from the lucky victim.

Chipping away Dean's sanity inch by inch, Roman feasts on his man like he's starving, like the taste of his skin is more addictive than any drug, and he just keeps sinking – unmerciful – into it.

The piercing, delicious pain of Roman's countless bites makes Dean scream, his cock twitching with desire, his whole self just writhing, yearning for the satisfaction of being filled, used and destroyed. After a while, his hips feel damn sore, his trembling thighs burn like he's been marked by hell's fire. But fuck, he's gonna wear those bruises so proudly from waist to knee, shivering every time his own fingers will fondle the dark scarlet memories impressed on him.

As soon as Roman sticks his arm out toward the first drawer of the nightstand, a new wave of frenzy starts rushing through Dean's veins. He's missed him too much. Willingly manhandled, then settled on all four, he even struggles to maintain balance, so strongly his need is clouding his capacity to just _exist_. He can barely hear the sound of the bottle being uncapped, only recognizes the moment he feels Roman caressing his entrance, fingers slick with lube.

"Do you want it, baby?" And that's a sweet whisper, despite the predatory attitude Roman's been showing.

"Yeah, Ro- Yeah. Jus' go. I can take it." He fumbles, finding the force to speak.

Roman sets himself right behind him, lubed bare cock finding its place against Dean's eager hole, teasing just a bit to help him relax his muscles. But there's actually no need, 'cause Dean's ready, and always is for him. He pushes backward, encouraging Roman to take what belongs to him. The man finally closes the space between them, and Dean feels that glorious dick ram into him in one firm, breathtaking thrust. Cursing between his teeth, he savors the stinging yet fulfilling sensation of being opened and kept together at the same time.

"Fuck, Ro. Come on, _hurt_ me." He rasps, drunk on his own heat and the hardness he's clenching around.

A growling pant and Roman lets his resistance crumble, driving himself into Dean in a series of longing, deep thrusts. The clashing of their bodies is anxious, reckless, and is gonna leave marks that won't heal so easily. Roman's holding Dean's hips tight enough to possibly bruise them, and a lean, consumed guy can't be nothing but grateful for that. His eyes are glistening with tears, pressure rising in his balls every time Roman curves enough to hit his prostate. He tries to reach his own towering shaft, stroking it quickly before sighing his lover's name. That's when Roman surrounds his slender waist with his arms to lift both of them up from the mattress. Dean turns his head to meet the other man's full lips, dying on them but kept alive by Roman's hand pumping his cock. Overstimulated on all fronts, he comes messily, fingers tangled into a black mane of hair and a loud cry breaking free from his wet mouth. He likes to be heard, likes his king to know exactly how good he is at fucking his brains out.

"Come too, Roman. God. Please. Fill me up. Give it to me." He begs, choking on his own words. And accompanied by a gruff catch of breath, his man's warm load soon follows. His shoulder throbs where Roman has just buried his last, damp bite, and his hipbones are asking for mercy under the still solid grasp of Roman's hands… But Dean is already moaning happily at the sole thought that he's gonna be sore for days.

Both of them collapse on the bed, snuggled up to each other, waiting for the impending calm after the perfect homecoming.

"Did someone die in Nevada?" Dean asks, out of the blue. His voice is quiet, as if he's talking about the weather.

Roman kisses his knuckles and lets his eyes wander about the edge of Dean's fingers. There's nothing to elude, just truth that has to be told. "Yes."

"Any of us?"

"No."

"Did you pull the trigger?"

"I did."

And even that is fine. Dean is well aware that exist two sides of Roman Reigns: the Big Dog, the cold-blooded assassin and fierce commander of a legion of ruthless men; and Ro, the sweet, caring guy who fulfills his every request and loves him with every beat of his heart. Two distinct men in one body, and Dean manages to embrace Roman's darkness as well as his light. Two forces in him that are so strong, he continuously shifts from one to the other. Dean can somehow feel, deep inside, that he's the glue keeping the two sides of that exhausting dichotomy together.

No matter how much blood those hands are drenched in, Dean cherishes, adores them. Yeah, maybe that feeling is utterly insane, not giving a single fuck anymore about how many people Roman kills as long as he doesn't get himself killed in the process. But it's an addiction, Dean thinks. It's an addiction being so important to a man who rules an empire standing on a count of dead bodies and piled up millions, a man who can get anything and anyone and yet chooses to trust and protect and have him. Dean is not – never been – only his darling, his precious possession, but so much more. Roman is God, sure, but Dean's the one that God prays to. He's the one who really has Florida's most dreaded crime lord on a leash.

' _Suck it, dad. Look at me now and tell me who's good for nothing_.' Dean thinks, a pleased grin springing up on his face.

  
  
'Cause he’s my big badhandsome man, yeah  
He’s got me in the palm of his hand  
He’s the devil divine, I’m so glad that he’s mine  
Cause he’s my big bad handsome man


End file.
